Welcome Reality
by Cairine the Fair
Summary: We all know the storied tale of her adult life, but Shepard's career began with the death of her father, three years after her birth. This is a glimpse into the years before her rise to glory.
1. 2808

280857 - 28 August, 2157

The breeze was a fickle thing, tossing her chin-length hair back and forth with abandon. A seagull cawed cheerily from above, unaware of the pomp occurring below its wings as it shat directly four feet in front of Hannah Shepard. The impact made a barely audible _splat_ against the stage floor. She watched it, unimpressed, hands aching for a gun to shoot it, shoot herself, shoot _something_. It was currently irrelevant in Hannah's mind that she was no longer authorized to shoot things at random. She sat to the left of the woman at the podium, who was currently invoking the names of the deceased in an effort to embody their sacrifice. That woman was Admiral Kastanie Drescher, a paragon of greatness in the Fleet, especially since she had turned the tide in the Occupation of Shanxi.

"Peace is, by its nature, a paradox. The men and women we honor here today have given their lives for that, forever a reminder to maintain that peace. A new age dawns for humanity in the passage of this war. We find ourselves amongst not only new species -" at this, she looked out over the alien contingent gathered to her right, a mix of the rather frog-like salarians, mono-gendered asari, and even high-ranking turians (Hannah's jaw reflexively clenched when she saw them), "- but also new allies."

Hannah grimaced. It certainly wasn't that she disliked Drescher's speech - no, that wasn't it at all. In fact, the admiral was doing a fantastic job, per usual. The crowd was calm, with the rare exception of a glare or two discreetly shot at the turians. It was that, in light of all of Hannah's strength and downright stubbornness, she could not fool herself. She was not suddenly a bulwark of iron will. She was still a wreck. She couldn't even hear his _name _without coming apart at the seams. Her eyes burned fiercely. Nauseating grief roiled in her gut like a geyser about to erupt. God, what a metaphor. She wanted to laugh at herself. Instead, water pooled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks effortlessly._  
_

_Fuck_. She could curse herself for days. She had promised Hal - and herself - that she wouldn't get all weepy in public. He wouldn't have wanted her to cry over him. In fact, at his father's funeral he'd said something along the lines of, _"Honey, we'll go home, make some fajitas, and honor his memory with a bottle of Pinot Noir warming our guts." _His sense of humor was perfect. _He _was perfect.

And now, he was dead. She missed him so much. So goddamn much.

* * *

Down in the audience sat a tot of a girl - barely three years old, chubby and all-around adorable, with tufty chestnut curls and freckly cheeks. She was wearing a dress that was not entirely comfortable, but due to the gravity of the event, she would never complain. Her lower lip poked out and her chin dimpled in consternation at the sight of her mother's tears. She squirmed in her grandmother's lap. "Now, Joanie, don't fidget -"

Even at three years old, Joan Shepard was a force of nature not to be reckoned with. In a display of incredible toddler flexibility, she limp-noodled her way out of her grandmother's grasp and, as Hannah Shepard stood to accept her husband's Palladium Star, ran nimbly up the four steps adjoining the stage and neatly stepped in the gull crap on her way to engulf her mother's legs in a tremendous hug.

Hannah was unsurprised, and swiftly pulled her daughter up into her arms, well aware of the crowd's wave of admiration and heartache that followed as Joan hugged her tightly about the neck. She was also well aware that Joan knew _exactly _what she was doing. She most definitely her father's daughter. Joan had the same effect on her, evaporating her sadness like the rising sun blotting away dew on blades of grass.

In that moment, Hannah Shepard knew that although she had lost her husband, she still had him with her, right here, in Joan. It filled _her_ with a peace she hadn't had since the day Hal died.

Shifting her daughter to her other hip, she strode to Kastanie Drescher. The woman's sharp blue eyes assessed her briefly, and she nodded her condolences as she passed the plaque and its accompanying merit into both Shepards' awaiting hands: one callused and well-versed in war, the other still small, soft, and untouched by life's hardships.

"It is with high honor that I bestow upon you this Star, in remembrance of Harold Shepard and his sacrifice for peace."


	2. Doomsday

In the wake of the First Contact War's resolution, Hannah Shepard found herself adrift. In further recognition of her husband's outstanding service, the brass offered her a job on Earth - a position called "civil technician," whatever the hell that meant. She wasn't sure whether she should be relieved or offended about being relegated to a desk job. She could push paper with the best of them, but it sure was boring as hell. And she certainly wasn't a scientist, by any stretch of the word. In her opinion, they had made her decision to leave the Alliance that much easier. It was her mother-in-law who was complicating matters.

"You will _not_ take my only grandchild away from me!"

Perhaps Hannah would have been more affected by Kathleen Shepard's anguished indignation had she not been so goddamn _tired_ of the meddlesome woman. Truly, when they'd first learned of Harold's death, Kathy had been a blessing to her - cooking meals, watching Joanie, cooking more meals - amongst other, very grandmotherly pursuits. But she was becoming too possessive. Hannah was being given an indefinite furlough, so to speak, and thus had plenty of time to take care of her daughter. It had been nearly a year since Harold's death. Hannah would always keep him close to her heart, but she was not one to wallow. She needed to move on to new fields, quite literally.

It was a very beautiful day. Hannah inhaled deeply, allowing the fresh air of Vancouver to refresh her wits before she plowed into this unpleasant subject. "Kathy, I am not stealing her from you. She's my daughter, after all," she pointed out. "We'd like to get a new start. I've talked to her about this, and she was not only willing, but excited about it." It was rather funny, this argument - they were conducting it in fierce whispers, lest Joan hear from the sandbox down in the yard. She was currently piloting a model of a frigate quite effectively with raspberry noises.

"How could she even possibly understand? She's four years old, yet you want to go off to an alien world and _farm_, for God's sake!" Genetic theory aside, Harold had most certainly inherited his mother's bullheadedness. "Who's going to take care of her while you're off doing Lord knows what with a high-tech tractor?" Her objections were understandable, at least. She lived a very well-to-do life in well-to-do circles. Her son had shocked their entire family when he married a farmer's daughter from the boonies of Ohio. Even so, Kathy's delivery left something to be desired.

Hannah swirled her glass of lemonade in a slow, relaxed manner. She would not allow her mother-in-law to aggravate her more than she already had. "That's right. She's four years old. That's when children start to get smart, and she's already very intelligent for her age. And though she's young, and it is difficult for her to understand that her father is _dead_," even at a soft tone, her words were laser-sharp, "she is still uncomfortable with his absence, and is tired of being reminded of it daily by her surroundings. For that matter, I'm tired of it, too."

Kathy's chin quivered. Hannah regretted pulling that card, but at least she had gotten her point across. After a long silence, the older woman sighed in resignation. "I understand. I've done the same thing, myself. I don't really have any room to judge." A slight pause. "But _Mindoir_? That's half the galaxy away!"

"I've done my share of research. It's ripe for colonization. The Alliance is even offering stipends to families who are willing to travel there and build new lives. We'd be living in state-of-the-art housing, using the best equipment available. And we'd be well protected." Hannah could be persuasive if she put her mind to it.

"I can't just let my family leave." Her voice was thick with emotion, though she was doing an admirable job of staying firm.

Hannah felt a pang of guilt. She had not really given thought to the fact that she and Joan were really the only immediate family that Kathy had left. Hannah had an older brother and a younger sister, both of whom she still kept in touch with. Harold had been an only child, born to an old family. Kathy's husband had died years ago, in a freak air car accident. If they left, she would be alone - or perhaps would become the generous yet mysterious "Auntie" at family reunions. Hannah believed that Kathy would actually quite like doing that. But perhaps Kathy saw this as her doomsday. She believed would never again see her family. If that was so, Hannah wanted to correct that, or at least reassure her further.

She reached for her mother-in-law's hand, and somewhat surprisingly, Kathy took it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she said gently. "We would send you vid mail every month."

"Three times a month."

"Once."

"Twice."

Hannah pretended to mull it over. "Done. In fact, we may even come back to visit sometime. Of course, those won't be nearly as frequent," she added. System-wide civilian transport was extremely expensive. However, Hannah felt that she could pull in some favors with her Alliance pals for a visit or two.

The older woman smiled tremulously. "I know. I would love a visit, from time to time."

"We would, too." Hannah looked out over the well-developed suburbs of Vancouver, her heart swelling. The trees were in the full swing of spring, now, bright green with young leaves, and charming houses were interspersed amongst the hills. It was a pleasant corner, but painful for her. And now, she could leave with peace of mind. More or less.

She looked further down the hill, where her daughter still played war in the sandbox. "Joan!" The little girl turned looked up at her mother and grandmother somewhat petulantly for interrupting her very important imagined battle. Hannah loved the way her fiery hair billowed in the gentle wind. "Come on up here."

She stood and did her best to brush the sand off her bottom, though a lot of it had made it into her clothes. Without further ado, she ran up the hill and clambered up the dark-stained wooden porch steps and looked expectantly at her elders.

Grandma ruffled her hair and she giggled. "We're going out to dinner, baby," Kathy said. "Where would you like to go?"

"McDonalds!" She shouted almost immediately with glee, raising her little fists to the sky with an air of victory. The two adults looked at one another, and Hannah burst out laughing. What could you expect a kid to choose? Then again, there wouldn't be many McD's where they were going. Looking back at Kathy, she sobered, unable to withhold a smile.

Kathy smiled as well, albeit a bit sadly. "That's a great choice, honey. How about you get your shoes on, and we'll head out?" The young girl tore off to find her sandals, surprisingly aware that it would be a very long time before she even set her eyes on one of those delicious greasy burgers. An excitingly colonial destiny awaited her, and she was looking forward to grabbing it by the horns and directing it to even higher pursuits.


End file.
